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Authors: Rebecca Sinclair
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pretty fair one, considering what you’re asking me to risk.”
“Name another one,” she insisted breathlessly. “One that I can meet.”
Although he doubted she was aware of it, the girl’s eyes were round with an odd mixture of desperation and fear. Even a fool could see that the terror shimmering in that tearful gaze was genuine, and Drake Frazier was no fool. Reluctantly, he pushed her away.
Hope took a ragged gulp of air and leaned heavily against the door, all the while wondering why her body suddenly felt cold in the spots his hands had warmed.
“That,” he said as he retrieved the bottle and glass, “is my price. Meet it or not, it doesn’t matter to me.”
Her mind raced. Of course she couldn’t meet his price, and for reasons other than the obvious, but she wasn’t about to confess it to him . No, there had to be another way. Jenny Clarke was the first idea to spring to mind, and Hope pounced on it like a starving cat would a mouse. “What if I were to arrange a—um— meeting with someone else?” She rubbed her hands together nervously and tried to gauge his reaction. Damn it, but that face could be as emotionless as a stone! “Would that meet your—er— needs?”
Drake casually returned to the chair, stretching his lean frame out and crossing his ankles beneath the bed. He polished off her unfinished drink, all the while eying her over the rim of the glass. “Depends. Who’d you have in mind?”
Lie, Hope, lie.
“A friend of mine,” she answered evasively. Her mind was running in circles as she tried to think of a polite way to describe the brassy redhead, a girl who would lie with any miner who said please in the form of a sack of gold dust. “You’d like her,” she rushed on when he sent her a skeptical glance. “She’s very well endow—er, cute.” Well, she could be, she reasoned, except for the abundance of color the girl caked on her face. “And she knows how to make a man happy.” Ah, now that much was definitely true. Any prospector seen leaving Jenny Clarke’s shanty sported a grin of satisfaction longer than the Ohio River. “Would that arrangement be suitable?”
Please, dear God let him say yes. Why is he shaking his head no?
“Why not?” she cried. She caught herself before she could stamp her foot in childish frustration, but the urge was still there.
His eyes were narrowed, his gaze warm and insinuating. “I’ve already stated my price. Now it’s up to you to decide how much your brother’s life is worth to you.” His voice hardened. “Keep in mind, though, these fights can get messy.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she asked, shaking her head incredulously. Hugging her arms close to her chest, she sidestepped the chair and went to the window. It was too smeared with dirt to see much more than the inky black sky above. “I didn’t just get off a ship in San Francisco yesterday, Mr. Frazier. My family and I have been in the mines almost two years now. We’ve seen more than our fair share of fights over claims.” She suppressed a shiver. The memories—one in particular—still had the power to make her blood run cold. The clink of glass meeting glass was followed by the sound of gin splashing into his glass.
“I saw a Swede fight a guy once,” she said when he held his peace. Her voice was soft, no stronger than the wind. “He was big, tall, blond. His poor opponents didn’t stand a chance.”
“Opponents? There were more than one?”
“Um-hmmm,” she murmured, lost to the memory. “There were two, the guy originally chosen to fight, and the one who stepped in for him when his friend fell. Both were carted away in a burlap sack. Or, more correctly, what was left of them. Neither lived to tell the tale.” Slowly, her voice grew stronger as she turned and fixed Frazier with a cold glare. “You see, Mr. Frazier, the winner cheated. He used a knife to win the round. Not that it made any difference to the two dead men.
“To the
“Name another one,” she insisted breathlessly. “One that I can meet.”
Although he doubted she was aware of it, the girl’s eyes were round with an odd mixture of desperation and fear. Even a fool could see that the terror shimmering in that tearful gaze was genuine, and Drake Frazier was no fool. Reluctantly, he pushed her away.
Hope took a ragged gulp of air and leaned heavily against the door, all the while wondering why her body suddenly felt cold in the spots his hands had warmed.
“That,” he said as he retrieved the bottle and glass, “is my price. Meet it or not, it doesn’t matter to me.”
Her mind raced. Of course she couldn’t meet his price, and for reasons other than the obvious, but she wasn’t about to confess it to him . No, there had to be another way. Jenny Clarke was the first idea to spring to mind, and Hope pounced on it like a starving cat would a mouse. “What if I were to arrange a—um— meeting with someone else?” She rubbed her hands together nervously and tried to gauge his reaction. Damn it, but that face could be as emotionless as a stone! “Would that meet your—er— needs?”
Drake casually returned to the chair, stretching his lean frame out and crossing his ankles beneath the bed. He polished off her unfinished drink, all the while eying her over the rim of the glass. “Depends. Who’d you have in mind?”
Lie, Hope, lie.
“A friend of mine,” she answered evasively. Her mind was running in circles as she tried to think of a polite way to describe the brassy redhead, a girl who would lie with any miner who said please in the form of a sack of gold dust. “You’d like her,” she rushed on when he sent her a skeptical glance. “She’s very well endow—er, cute.” Well, she could be, she reasoned, except for the abundance of color the girl caked on her face. “And she knows how to make a man happy.” Ah, now that much was definitely true. Any prospector seen leaving Jenny Clarke’s shanty sported a grin of satisfaction longer than the Ohio River. “Would that arrangement be suitable?”
Please, dear God let him say yes. Why is he shaking his head no?
“Why not?” she cried. She caught herself before she could stamp her foot in childish frustration, but the urge was still there.
His eyes were narrowed, his gaze warm and insinuating. “I’ve already stated my price. Now it’s up to you to decide how much your brother’s life is worth to you.” His voice hardened. “Keep in mind, though, these fights can get messy.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she asked, shaking her head incredulously. Hugging her arms close to her chest, she sidestepped the chair and went to the window. It was too smeared with dirt to see much more than the inky black sky above. “I didn’t just get off a ship in San Francisco yesterday, Mr. Frazier. My family and I have been in the mines almost two years now. We’ve seen more than our fair share of fights over claims.” She suppressed a shiver. The memories—one in particular—still had the power to make her blood run cold. The clink of glass meeting glass was followed by the sound of gin splashing into his glass.
“I saw a Swede fight a guy once,” she said when he held his peace. Her voice was soft, no stronger than the wind. “He was big, tall, blond. His poor opponents didn’t stand a chance.”
“Opponents? There were more than one?”
“Um-hmmm,” she murmured, lost to the memory. “There were two, the guy originally chosen to fight, and the one who stepped in for him when his friend fell. Both were carted away in a burlap sack. Or, more correctly, what was left of them. Neither lived to tell the tale.” Slowly, her voice grew stronger as she turned and fixed Frazier with a cold glare. “You see, Mr. Frazier, the winner cheated. He used a knife to win the round. Not that it made any difference to the two dead men.
“To the
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